Things To Avoid While Pretending To Be Normal
by Lady-of-the-Refrigerator
Summary: Trying to get a feel for the social and romantic rituals of the average teenage male is all well and good, but there's probably a better way to go about it than spying on my foster sister and her boy of the week while they get up to who knows what in Harry's absence.


Written for Yuletide 2013

* * *

I know what you're going to say. Harry would never approve of what I'm doing.

In theory, I agree. Trying to get a feel for the social and romantic rituals of the average teenage male is all well and good, but there's probably a better way to go about it than spying on my foster sister and her boy of the week while they get up to who knows what in Harry's absence.

I could walk down any hallway at school and witness at least four acts of public groping before lunchtime.

I could go up to the latest make-out spot on a Saturday night and have my choice of hormonal couples to observe.

I could hunker down in the back row at the local cineplex and see enough clandestine hand-jobs on hair-triggered youths to hope whatever my sneakers were sticking to was something as innocent as soda.

There's a risk involved with any of those options, though. If I got caught, I'd be labeled a pervert, possibly for life. I might even get arrested for it. That's pretty high up Harry's list of _Things To Avoid While Pretending To Be Normal_.

Deb, on the other hand, is a lot less likely to call the police on me if she catches me watching her.

After all, Deb's my sister. I'm supposed to look out for her; even Harry can't deny it's my duty—hell, he's the one who instilled it in me.

Besides, there's something about tonight's guy that rubs me the wrong way. He looks like he's mauling her. Clueless though I may be about these things, even I know that can't be right. Surely, there should be a little more finesse involved. I tilt my head, trying to get a better feel for the mechanics of it all. His technique seems… sloppy.

"Are you trying to kiss her or swallow her tongue?" I wonder aloud.

He's so engrossed in his attempt to round the bases that he doesn't hear me. Deb does. She tears her mouth from his and looks up at me, lips parted, cheeks flushed, pupils dilated, chest heaving. I expect her to yell at me right away, but she doesn't. Interesting.

He takes the broken kiss as an opportunity to move onto her neck; he sucks at her there as she arches into him, her eyes locked with mine. She doesn't even blink until the kid shoves his hand up her shirt. Then, she tries to push him away, face flushing redder in anger as she spits out, "Jerry, you asshole, we had a deal! Get off me!"

He doesn't listen to her, either, another tactical error on his part. I grab a fistful of his oily hair and wrench him off her. I drag him to the wall and tighten my fist in his hair, pulling his head back and pressing my other arm across his windpipe. "What part of 'get off her' do you not understand?"

His eyes are wide as he opens and closes his mouth helplessly, my arm too tight against his neck to allow him to speak. Or breathe very effectively, truth be told. He starts to panic, scrabbling against me, struggling for air.

Killing your sister's boy toy is pretty high up Harry's _Things To Avoid_ list, too. I let him go. He collapses in a heap at my feet, gasping and choking.

"Your brother's a fucking psycho!" he yells hoarsely after catching his breath, setting off another coughing fit.

"Fuck off, Jerry. I was gonna dump your ass tonight anyway."

Deb waits until Jerry-the-Jerk-Off slinks off into the night before tearing into me.

"What the fuck, Dex?" she says, shoving at my shoulder with surprising strength. The weasel must have been even more determined to get in her pants than I thought considering how little he budged when she shoved him. "It looked like you were gonna fucking _kill_ him."

Uh oh. What would Harry say to do in a situation like this?

Apologize.

Deflect suspicion.

"I'm sorry I scared you."

She scoffs and gives me another shove. Typical Deb posturing. "You didn't scare me. It was actually kinda h—" She cuts herself off and blushes. Why would she blush?

"Kinda what?" She stares at her sneakers, fidgeting. "Deb?"

"Shit, Dex." She looks a lot like she did when she was seven and ate all her Halloween candy in one sitting, and mine, too. That night had been filled with tears and vomit, and I hope tonight isn't heading in that direction.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I… I just remembered Mr. Roberts gave us a shit ton of algebra homework and I haven't even started it."

She's lying.

Watching Deb try to lie is like taking a crash course in what not to do. She fidgets and stammers and makes eye contact with literally anything visible other than a person's eyes. Right now she's staring at the top button on my shirt. I hope I'm not as transparent as she is when I lie.

"Wasn't Mr. Roberts out sick today?"

She takes a long, deep breath and lets it out slowly. She knows she's caught, but she doesn't try to leave. I take that as a good sign. "_Shit_."

"Tell me what's wrong. Please. I let your boyfriend live, it's the least you can do." I know my tone can use some work, but a joke is always good to defuse tension, right?

"He's not my fucking boyfriend anymore," she grumbles under her breath. She's still green around the gills, but she lifts up her chin and looks me straight in the eye. Dear defiant Debra. "It was hot, OK?"

Well. Um. That would explain… huh.

"Hot as in _hot_ hot or hot as in…?"

"Hot as in sexy, Dexter, this really isn't that hard to understand."

"You think I'm hot?"

"I said _it_ was hot, not you."

"Yeah, but how can you think something I did was hot if you don't think—"

"Because you're my fucking brother, I'm not supposed to think you're hot!"

And Harry's not supposed to be teaching me how to get away with murder, but that hasn't stopped him.

I don't say that out loud. Obviously.

She avoids my eyes again, looking at anything but me with an intensity she used to reserve for games of _I Spy_. Speaking of, I spy the angry bruise of a hickey forming at the base of her throat.

"Did he hurt you?" I ask, reaching toward her. She dodges, swatting my hand away.

"I'm _fine_, Dex. I was two seconds away from kneeing him in the balls anyway."

"Oh. OK." An awkward silence settles over us. For once, Deb's just as clueless about about a situation as I am. It's refreshing. "Do you want a hug?" I offer.

"_Terrible_ timing, Dexter."


End file.
